


A Dramione Story: Obliviate

by krazycoocoo



Series: Harry Potter and the World of Ships [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krazycoocoo/pseuds/krazycoocoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Obliviate." He said.</p><p>Draco is a troubled young wizard and he just needs somebody to listen. Hermione Granger is a Muggle-born witch and she is that person. Once she listens, she forgets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dramione Story: Obliviate

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: this is set in Hermione's (non-existent) seventh year of Hogwarts and is nowhere near the same as the original "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows". Harry and Ron are looking for Horcruxes without her. Enjoy! :)
> 
> I OWN NOTHING. EVERYTHING BELONGS TO THE AMAZING J.K. ROWLING. IT IS HER WORLD BUT WHAT AN AMAZING WORLD IT IS.

**A   D R A M I O N E   S T O R Y ;~; O B L I V I A T E**

**. h e r m i o n e   g r a n g e r .**

 

 **Hermione Granger was a Muggle-born witch.** Or, in other words, a _Mudblood._ Being titled by this insulting term of malice no longer gave Hermione the urge to slap, or rather, punch, someone, but indeed, gave the incredibly intelligent witch the notion that the word 'Mudblood' was a term of endearment. There was, in fact, a certain fair-skinned, blonde-haired Slytherin that came to mind when she happened to hear this charming word.

 

                 The Christmas holidays had begun. It was, in fact, only the third day of the festive season. However, on this particularly snowy morning, Hermione was curled up in the Gryffindor common room, desperately seeking some company. This behaviour was not at all like her. Usually, Hermione was perfectly content left to herself, for in these situations, she was given the opportunity to curl up with that book she spotted in the library last week.

 

                 And yet, as Hermione sat cross-legged, in front of the fireplace, she found herself feeling... _lonely._ Lonely was not an adjective Hermione would ever use to describe herself. In fact, Hermione was too _un_ -lonely, as it was, with her friends - Harry, to be exact - having the tendency to seek trouble. That habit was always the cause of Hermione's case of un-loneliness. She had her eyes trained on the falling snow outside of the glass-stained window, the perfectly shaped little flakes of purely white, freezing-cold snow. Hermione remembered, last year, after all the hustle and bustle of the Order of the Phoenix, she recalled perfectly that at Christmas, while visiting her Muggle parents, she had spent days upon days perfectly satisfied to just watch the snow fall.

 

                 Hence it was that loneliness was a foreign concept for the witch. Her two best friends, Harry and Ron, were on the hunt for Horcruxes - items in which Lord Voldemort contained parts of his soul - and had left Hermione behind. Ron had adamantly insisted that the mission was 'too dangerous' and though Hermione had argued that being friends with Harry Potter was dangerous in itself, she had given in and had stayed behind, to complete her last year at Hogwarts.

 

                 Hermione couldn't say that she was _enjoying_ the experience of having such a famous school taught by Dark wizards. Severus Snape, or rather, _Professor_ Snape, had taken on the role of Headmaster after he had so emotionlessly murdered Albus Dumbledore. Hermione's heart still smarted with this knowledge because, in her opinion, Dumbledore had been the greatest wizard alive, and if Harry's power sometimes rivalled Dumbledore's own, nobody else held a candle to him.

 

                 It was surprising, also, that under the 'care' of Professor Snape, the students were given even less freedom than under the care of Professor Dumbledore. All students, whether Gryffindor, or Slytherin, were to be in bed by 9PM. This little tidbit of information left many students wondering just what it was the teachers got up to whilst all the students were safe and accounted for. And though Hermione truly _despised_ anyone who was on the Dark side, she enjoyed the little freedom she was given.

 

                 Finally, Hermione acknowledged the boredom nagging at the back of her mind, and with all innocent intents, she pushed through the portrait of the Fat Lady and strode determinedly towards the library. The library had always, for Hermione, been a source of comfort, and of peace. It was where she went when things were just becoming too much to handle, and it was that on that particular day, there was another who found equal amounts of comfort in the library.

 

                 Hermione was, you could say, surprised to see one certain Slytherin reclining stiffly in a rapidly sinking beanbag, though you could not say Hermione was not _pleased._ She was, in fact, incredibly pleased, and abandoning all previous purposes, hurried towards where the Slytherin boy was sitting. He seemed to be aware that there were eyes on him, and as she neared his position, looked up.

 

                 Hermione's breath was stolen away from her as grey eyes locked with her chocolate-coloured ones. Those grey eyes, turned silver by the light, were the centre of her universe, the sun that all her planets rotated around. "What's wrong?" Hermione's voice was quietly reassuring, and when she took the beanbag beside his, he turned to her and his thin pink lips twitched into a half-smile.

 

                 "You know me too well, Granger." Draco Malfoy had a very identifiable drawl, and to those who did not know him, it was a cold, emotionless way of speaking. To Hermione, who liked to think she knew Draco _far_ too well, his drawl was music to her ears.

 

                 "Do you want to?" Hermione had a way of speaking that, even if she hadn't finished her sentence, anybody could know what she was hinting at. Draco, who knew and _loved_ the Muggle-born witch, understood immediately what she was speaking about.

 

                 "Yes." Draco's reply was without hesitation, and he was rewarded with a small smile gracing Hermione's beautiful features.

 

                 Thankfully, there wasn't anybody else seeking temporary relief within the book-cluttered space of the library. Otherwise it would have seemed awfully suspicious as, not a few moments after Draco departed, Hermione packed her bag up and left the library. With the route well-known to her, Hermione made her way towards the Room of Requirement. It was that time in the afternoon that most 'teachers' (Hermione used this term with the _utmost_ reluctance) were dining on lunch.

 

                 So it was with surprise and panic that Hermione spotted none other than Professor Snape turning the corner. Now, Hermione was known for being incredibly intelligent, and it was at this time that, using a quick spell, she caused a commotion in the hallway over. Hogwarts' current Headmaster seemed utterly confused, and glancing around, began to trace his previous steps. This gave Hermione enough time to cast a _Muffliato_ and Disapparate.

 

                 Hermione Apparated in front of the untarnished grey wall that she knew so well. Pacing three times, back and forth, Hermione thought only one word. _Draco._ It was with excitement that she could never conceal that she watched and waited as the ornate black door appeared in the material of the wall, and after checking, for Hermione _never_ left any area unchecked, slipped inside.

 

                 "You're late, Granger." Draco drawled, from where he was sprawled ungainly across a leather couch.

 

                 Hermione sat beside him, pulling his head onto her lap. As her fingers ran smoothly and softly through the boy's platinum blonde locks, she commanded gently, "Speak." She knew, she just knew, that something was going on, and if she were the only one he could talk to, then so be it, regardless of the consequences.

 

                 "Are you sure?" Was it just her imagination, Hermione wondered, leading her astray, or was concern making itself palpable within her beloved's voice? Draco tilted his head backwards, a whimper caught in his throat as Hermione's fingers worked magic on his hair. Those beautifully cold steel eyes of his were closed, the golden eyelashes casting lengthy shadows on his pale cheeks. "You know what I'll have to do afterwards."

 

                 This, Hermione knew, was what she always ended up being afraid about. If this was going to happen all the time, every time, Hermione knew that there would have to be an end to this strangely comforting relationship she and Draco shared. _This will be the last time._ Those were familiar words to Hermione, for every single time he needed her, they were her thoughts. And yet, there she was. Every single time.

 

                 "I'm sure." Hermione's reply was without hesitation, and yet inside, she recoiled at the thought of having Draco do that to her because she loved him. Being the one he needed in times of strife was a position Hermione honoured dearly. She knew and understood Draco's urgent need to speak about his problems. She was _in love_ with the beautiful Slytherin boy laid across her lap, and yet she knew that their love was that of a misunderstood boy and a desperate girl.

 

                 "It's all I can think about." Draco spoke in an urgent whisper, his eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched. "Dumbledore's death." Hermione's breath escaped her sharply at those words, and though there was anger, always anger, and hurt, guilt, she kept quiet and allowed him free speech. "Bellatrix was the one who set me up to it. She suggested to him -" There was no need to ask who that _him_ was. Lord Voldemort. "- that there should be someone to have the task of murdering Albus Dumbledore.

                 "Perhaps, when my dear Aunt subtly made this suggestion, she had no idea I would be the one. And yet, when I was given the task, I was expected to _worship_ his mere words, to feel _honoured_ that I was to kill one of the greatest wizards of all time. At first, I was eager to please him, eager to prove that I could be the youngest Death Eater and yet be the best. However, slowly, I realised that there was no way _I_ could successfully kill Dumbledore.

                 "Severus was a blessing. He showed up at the perfect time, straight after I had used _Expelliarmus_ on Dumbledore, thankfully taking away the pressure of having to murder Dumbledore myself. I knew, though, that everyone present and everyone who was to hear about his death were disappointed in me and in my actions. It's not safe for me, anymore, Hermione. They all hate me, him especially, and if my own Lord hates me, what hope do I have?"

 

                 Draco fell quiet, and Hermione let him mull over his words. "Draco." Her voice was gentle, soothing, much like the pattern her fingers drew in his hair. "Don't you ever think you're unworthy. Those who think that way of you are unworthy themselves. I love you, Draco, no matter the consequences."

 

                 Draco's lips quirked up at the corners, his features relaxing. There were a few moments that passed between the two lovers. Silence hung in the air, though this was more of a comfortable silence, the silence of two people who needed no words to communicate. And yet, when Draco sat up, Hermione knew those moments were but memories. Memories soon to be forgotten.

 

                 Draco turned his head so he wouldn't have to face Hermione. "Are you okay?" He asked, gently.

 

                 Hermione bit her bottom lip and laced her slender fingers together. "Are you?" she responded. "Draco." She used her hand to tilt his chin up and pressed a short, sweet kiss to his lips. That kiss held so many unspoken words of desperation and of want. "I love you, Draco." And she did.

 

                 Draco's hand was shaking, quite noticeably, as he removed his wand from his robe pockets. Hermione covered his hand with her own two hands, and together, the wand was pointed at her forehead. Hermione closed her brown eyes slowly, not yet wanting to face the inevitable, not yet wanting to let go of Draco. Her eyes closed, and Draco felt his stomach churning as he watched tears fall from her closed eyelids.

 

                 "I love you." Three words, eight letters. And yet, when Hermione heard Draco say this phrase to her, she felt at ease. She knew he loved her, she believed it, and she would love him no matter what happened in the future. She would _never_ forget, not even by force. "I love you, Hermione."

 

                 Hermione let her hands fall to her side, and inhaled shakily, forcing her tears at bay. Her lips trembled as Draco levelled his wand at her forehead. She could feel her limbs trembling. One cool, familiar hand rested upon her knee and it was with this wordless gesture of love that Hermione finally let go.

 

                 "Obliviate."

**Author's Note:**

> Yay or nay? Please leave constructive feedback, kudos too!  
> > krazycoocoo


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